


It Wasn't Like This Before

by fickle_fics



Category: The Hour
Genre: F/M, OCD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:22:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fickle_fics/pseuds/fickle_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lix and Randall haven't been together in nineteen years, things couldn't be much worse, and then there's Randall's little quirks to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Wasn't Like This Before

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kink_bingo's 'ritual' square. I'm really not sure if I managed to really fill it or not, but I tried.
> 
> Also - I'm assuming Randall's OCD grew worse after Spain, because otherwise I really don't know how he'd have coped with either the situation or Lix.

There’s a moment of silence as Randall closes and carefully locks the door to his flat, a moment in which he waits for the screaming to start, or crying at the very least. Tears for Sophia and Freddie and everything else that could have been but isn’t. He’s more than a little stunned when instead Lix steps into his personal space and wraps her arms tightly around him. 

“Randall.” His name is full of anguish and sorrow on her tongue, and he’s very aware of the way she smells; exactly the same as she used to - of whiskey and that perfume she got in Paris that she apparently still wears all these years on. He stiffens for a split second, then reaches up awkwardly, one arm moving around her shoulders. This isn’t how it has been with them this time. She’s been the strong one, too strong perhaps under the circumstances, and the change is worrying, though he can’t say there isn’t some aspect of having her like this that doesn’t make him feel amazingly alive and he instantly feels ashamed. He should not want Lix vulnerable, and he doesn’t. But she’s close, and not purely to offer him comfort and that feels like it means something.

“He’s going to be okay,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse 

“Is he?” She looks up at him, tears in her eyes and before Randall knows what he’s doing he’s reaching up to touch her cheek. He can’t stand to see her like this. Perhaps it was better when she was being cold and cruel and acting as if she didn’t care about anything, because at least then there weren’t tears in her eyes.

“Did you see him? Did you see what those _animals_ did?” She closes her eyes, her jaw set as she tries to keep it together because that’s who she is now. Who she has to be.

“Try not to worry. He’s at the hospital they can do amazing things.”

When she finally opens her eyes a tear rolls down her cheek and Randall brushes it away instantly, trying to work out what to do, what to say.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admits, moving closer, burying her head against his neck, one hand moving up into his hair and yet again he stills because this is how it starts, how it started nineteen years ago after a particularly rough day out on the field and too much whiskey. Only now he’s sober, and old, and terrified she’ll be disappointed that he’s no longer the man he once was.

“Randall,” she says his name again, her voice breaking and he can feel her tears and eyelashes against his neck and all he wants is to make it better.

“Tell me what you need,” he says, the words coming out formal, as if they’re an order rather than a request.

She presses her lips against his neck, the kiss tender and lingering and he closes his eyes, sighs just a little and wraps his other arm around her.

“Lix?” He has to be sure, because they’re in quite enough of a mess already without her sleeping with him in a moment of weakness and regretting it afterwards.

She looks up at him with a slight frown. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Randall, you are _terrible_ at this!”

“I just…are you sure?”

“I can’t do this anymore. It’s exhausting this-this _thing_ between us. And we could talk about it, but after everything that’s happened today. Randall, I can’t lose you as well. Not again.” And before he can even reply she’s kissing him again, properly this time, fully on the lips and he can taste the familiar tang of whiskey and smoke on her tongue, can feel the girl she used to be, all that passion only barely held back.

 

It’s been nineteen years since he’s had Lix like this, alone in his bedroom. She’s right, they have a million things to talk about, but there’s a time for talking and a time for actually doing and if they start doing the former it will only end badly and neither of them need that right now. What they need is a distraction from the horror of everything that is going on just like they did in Spain and perhaps it wasn’t healthy then and it almost certainly isn’t healthy now, but the idea of being along tonight is very close to unbearable and this is Lix, _his_ Lix and he’s never been able to resist her, not even at the worst of times.

She’s careful with her hands as she kisses him, it’s difficult though. She wants to curl her fingers into his dark silver hair, she wants him ruffled and breathless like she used to make him late at night back in his room in Spain, but he’s different now. His little quirks are worse now, more noticeable and she’s sure if she does that it’ll upset him, throw him out of what they’re doing and she can’t lose him to anxiety over the state of his hair. She moves away slightly, pressing into the kiss first, lingering before she does so, looking at him as she begins to undo his shirt, bottom to top as she’s seen him do with the buttons on his suit jacket. She isn’t going to make a mistake, isn’t going to give him reason to think or find anything even slightly _wrong_. He stays very still as she undresses him though, and she’s almost certain he’s holding his breath. He moves his arms as she pulls off his shirt though, watching carefully as she folds and drapes it over his desk chair before turning her attention to his undershirt.

He reaches down for her hands, stilling them and hating himself just a little for not being able to just let himself go, because she’s trying so hard. He can tell by the way she’s undone the buttons, careful and methodical rather than just rushing and fumbling as she used to, but he feels like he can’t breathe with his shirt just draped like that.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, moving away from her, crossing the room to his wardrobe and retrieving a clothes hanger for his shirt. He knows it’s stupid. He won’t be wearing the shirt tomorrow, he won‘t be wearing it again until it‘s been washed and pressed. It shouldn’t matter if it’s slightly crumpled, but that isn’t where it belongs. He won’t be able to relax with it there. He won’t be able to stop thinking about it and Lix deserves his full attention.

Impossible man. _Impossible_ man!

Lix can only stand there, lips pressed together with the effort it takes not to scream at him. They cannot have an argument though. Not now. She just needs to be a little more patient, a little more understanding but it’s so difficult right now.

He can feel her eyes on him as he carefully unfolds and hangs up his shirt. He feels small and foolish and can’t even turn to look at her, because he doesn’t want to see the distaste on the face.

“Are you planning on hanging up my clothes, as well, Randall?” she asks, fighting to keep the anger out of her voice.

He turns then, abashed.

“Only I’ll be perfectly honest with you now, I couldn’t give a damn where my clothes end up.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, aware that it isn’t enough. That she could never hope to understand, because really he doesn’t understand himself.

“I did try,” she says.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“I just want you to switch off, Randall,” she steps closer, takes the hanger from him and hangs it on the front of his wardrobe, watching him in case that isn‘t right either.. “I just want you to stop being so-so…”

“Odd?”

“No, not odd…particular. It must be exhausting. And I don’t understand it. It wasn’t like this before. What happened to you, Randall?”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about things?”

“There’s only so much I can ignore. Just tell me what to do, Randall. I don‘t want to make things more difficult, not now. Not while they‘re quite difficult enough.”

“Right well to answer your earlier question, yes I think I’m going to have to hang up your clothes. It makes me uneasy. I need everything to be in order. I can’t have things be a mess.”

Lix laughs bitterly. “Yes well.”

Randall sighs well aware of what she’s getting at. He doesn’t meant it like that. True he kows there’s a certain chaos that comes with Lix, but it isn’t enough to keep him away from her, and apparently his ‘particularness’ isn’t enough to keep her from him either. Thank goodness.

“Perhaps I should leave.”

“Don’t.” The word comes out of its own accord, heartfelt and desperate. He can’t let her leave, because what then? What will either of them do? “Please.”

“I’m always going to hurt you, Randall, whatever I do. It seems I just can’t help myself.”

“You’re not. It’s me. We can do this. I just…I need your help.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing.”

She raises an eyebrow at that, not quite believing him.

“Let me do everything.”

“I miss undressing you.”

He closes his eyes. He misses being undressed, by her. He misses everything about her. The scent of her on his shirts because she couldn’t find her own. She was always a whirlwind and it seems nothing has changed. They were doomed from the start, but even more so now. And yet somehow he just can’t bring himself to care.

“I’m sorry.” It feels as if he can’t say it enough, because he can’t, because he is. For so many things, but this especially.

“Just do what you need to do, darling,” she purrs, suddenly close to him. “I don’t care, I don’t _mind_. However this has to happen for you. I just want you to be happy.”

He doesn’t deserve any of this and perhaps it isn’t understanding, but it’s close enough. It’s Lix still here, still wanting him and he only wishes he could say he’d do anything for her, but the truth is he can’t. He can’t even let a shirt be folded rather than hung.

“You can teach me what to do another time,” she continues. “But for now you may be in charge. Do everything, anything. I just want to spend the night with you, Randall. I won‘t make it more difficult. You have my word.”

He reaches out with shaking hands to undo her blouse, touching each button once before he undoes it bottom to top, relaxing just a little with each one. With the buttons undone he pauses for a moment, turning his attention from his task back to her face. She smiles fondly, making no comment or attempt to rush him, keeping to her word to just let him do what he needs to, and he hasn’t felt quite as accepted in longer than he can remember. He wants to say something, but he’s fairly certain that if he starts talking now things will only go rapidly downhill and they’ve come so far, so quickly. He can’t lose that.

“You’ll tell me if you need me to do anything, won’t you?” she asks quietly, arms down by her sides. She hasn’t moved since he started to undress her, as if she’s afraid of disturbing him.

“Of course.” He moves his hand down either side of her blouse, straightening and evening it out as he talks. “Thank you. Really, Lix, thank you.”

Leaning in she kisses him quickly, more a peck than anything else. “Don’t be so silly. I can’t say I understand but as said I don’t mind, whatever you have to do.”

He almost wants to weep with how grateful he is. Once upon a time they’d have been in bed by now, littering each other with kisses and words of support, as they explored each other’s bodies and now they’ve only managed to remove one item of clothing between them. Sad really. Pushing the thoughts away from his head his continues, parting the fabric, a pang of lust at the sight of her plain black satin bra, dark against the perfect paleness of her skin. God what he’d give to just be able to rip her clothes off, but he just can’t. There’s a method, a procedure that he has to follow and it will be worth it - the wait. He removes the blouse from her shoulder, left, all the way off, then right. And then he pauses. The fabric loose in his hands as he just looks at her. She’s lost nothing over the years, is just as flawless as she always was, and he only wishes he could say the same. Time has not been nearly so kind to him.

He manages to pull his gaze away only when he hears the rumble of Lix’s laugh, and he blushes at being caught looking at her quite so obviously. “You’re getting distracted, darling.”

“I…” he coughs suddenly feeling awkward, as he runs his fingers over the fabric of her blouse as if it‘s a security blanket.

“It wasn’t a complaint,” she points out. “It’s rather pleasant. You losing your focus. Because of me. It‘s nice to know I‘ve still got it.”

“Lix,” he doesn’t even know where to start. There are so many things he wants to say. Of course she’s still got it. He can still remember the way his heart leapt at the sight of her in Lime Grove after not seeing her in nineteen years. He’d never expected her to still look so glorious, nor to still be so very _Lix_. “You shouldn’t encourage it,” he points out. “Or this could take me all night.”

She shrugs, waves her hand dismissively. “I’m in no rush.”

“I should…” he holds up her blouse, straightens it with one hand and turns away to find more hangers for the items of clothing still to be removed, hanging up her shirt and placing it on the handle of his wardrobe above his own shirt, before rearranging it, placing his on top, ready for his undershirt. 

“Two down,” she says, when he turns back to her, reaching for him the moment he’s within reach, running one hand slowly over his torso. “You’re still awfully covered, you know? It seems a little unfair.”

He glances at her hand, utterly conflicted. As long as everything is hung up does it really matter what happens before that? As long as he can deal with it before it’s cast aside, and really she’s made it clear she’ll do anything he needs, she wouldn’t do that to him.

“Take it off,” he says.

Lix raises an eyebrow at his words. “Are you sure?”

“I am. I trust you.”

Careful, but purposeful she untucks his undershirt from his trousers, pushing it up over his body as evenly as she can, pulling it over his head as he raises his arms, then pressing it into his hands.

“Thank you,” he says, letting out the breath he was apparently holding as he waited to be put back in control again. He shakes it out, steps back over his wardrobe and places it beneath his shirt on the same hanger, because they should be kept together, ready for him to wash.

“Much better,” she says appreciatively when he once again returns. It’s all very formulaic, remove an item of clothing, go to the wardrobe, hang, repeat. At least she knows what to expect and there is a certain kind of comfort in that. Who needs surprise anyway? “So what next?”

He takes a moment, his eyes running over her body, assessing his options. They’re both in a similar state of undress, but the thought of her removing his trousers makes this stomach turn slightly. It’s better he do that himself. No he should focus on her, not that that’s a particularly hard task.

He steps closer, slips an arm around her waist and pulls her a little closer, his free hand slipping between them to the fastening on her trousers. His finger runs from the bottom of the zip to the top before he deftly undoes the button and pulls it down, pushing the material down her legs, his thumbs skimming over the exposed skin as he lowers himself with slight difficulty to remove them. He only has to touch her leg for her to raise it, left then right and then there she is, above him in nothing but her underwear and it’s the most perfect sight he’s seen in years, enough to make him drop her trousers and just stay there, on his knees.

“All right down there?” she asks, looking down at him with far too much satisfaction.

“Wonderful,” he says and he turns his head to kiss her thigh, another moment of distraction. They really can’t go on like this. He needs to focus. He needs to remove all of their clothes satisfactorily, to his exact standards.

“It’s just-”

“I know. I _know_.” He looks up at her and she looks so pleased with herself and he’s sure he should hate her for it, but he can’t, because it’s so her it only spurs him on. Focus, Randall, focus.

She offers her hand to help him up. “I should see to these,” he says holding up her trousers, making the journey to the wardrobe again, and he’s so close. This is almost it. Everything in its place, and the two of them together, alone, _bare_.

“Will you wait on the bed?” he says softly, kissing her gently on his return, and guiding her backwards towards it.

“Anything you want, darling,” she assures him, a touch to his cheek. “Anything at all. You’re doing so well.”

He supposes he should feel patronised, but he doesn’t, rather there’s a swell of pride at her praise. And he is doing well. It could be going so much worse, without her help he would be completely lost, but he could be more focused on everything, unable to become distracted, but he can be. Even now there really are more important things than his need to keep everything ordered. His focus is not purely on their clothes, so yes he _is_ doing well. 

Turning away he undoes his trousers hanging them up in an easy motion because he’s close to the wardrobe and doesn’t really have to worry about Lix though he’s certain she’s watching him. 

“Are you quite done?“ she asks and when he turns she’s there laying side on, propped up, hand on the side of head watching him with an amused expression on her face.. 

“Very nearly,“ he admits and he goes to her, reaches for her offered hand, and here they are, in nothing but their underwear, the both of them and that’s fine. From here everything is okay. He can fold and leave these last three items on the chair with little worry. The main items have been dealt with. Now he can just carry on without it weighing on his mind.

Lix smiles the most beautiful smile up at him, squeezing his hand and pulling him in towards her.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming back. I thought perhaps I’d lost you to your wardrobe.”

“Never,” he says, crouching beside her, at the edge of his bed. 

She pulls him up then, shuffling back on the bed to make room for him and pulling him onto it, pausing to reach out and remove his glasses, hesitating before she actually touches them as if she’s waiting for him to stop her.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Go ahead.”

She removes them delicately and hands them over, watching as he turns away, retrieves his glasses case from the top left hand side of his bedside table, placing them inside and closing it with a snap, placing it back down and moving it back and forth a couple of times, making sure it’s straight.

She’s still smiling when he moves back to her, if she’s frustrated with all this (which she has every right to be) she’s hiding it well.

“Almost there,” she says.

“Almost there.” He wraps his arms around her as he rolls them back onto the bed, looking at her from his position above her and smiles. The first real smile he’s managed for years. She’s far too beautiful and time really hasn’t tainted her, Nothing of her has faded and there’s a part of him that just wants to stay here and look at her. Instead he pulls her up, reaching back to remove her bra in one easy, practised motion, a skill that is apparently like riding a bike. He folds it carefully, the warmth of the material on his fingers making him increasingly eager to touch her properly again, after all this time. Reaching over to his desk chair he leaves it there, without letting go of her and there she is, on his bed, almost completely naked.. She hasn’t protested this whole time, perhaps this really will be okay, all he needs is her acceptance of his ways and everything will be fine, surely?

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Never better.” She reaches up to touch his face again, fingers tracing delicately over the wrinkles at the sides of his eyes, his forehead, a look of adoration and contentment on her face, as if she still sees him as the man she was with before - handsome and brave and drunk and not this tired mess of a human he is now.

“I’m sorry I’m like this.”

She leans in closer then, kisses him so soundly he’s sure she’s trying to kill him. “Don’t you ever apologise, Randall, not to me, not for this. I can’t say I understand it, but it doesn’t bother me, not like it did. I’ll get used to it. I’ll _try_ to get used to it, and to understand, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t just say that. I’m just thinking aloud. Let‘s just see how tonight goes, shall we?”

“If I had my way I’d never let you go,” he says, deadly serious. He’s never wanted to let her go, she’d just left and he wasn’t the sort of man to chase after her, to try to talk her into coming back. Lix was, and _is_ , her own woman, he knew tactics like that would never work and he wasn’t about to do that to himself. But now, now everything’s different.

His words silence her, all she can do is look at him, the man she never stopped loving no matter how hard she tried. “Lets just start here, shall we? See if we can get through this without incident.”

“Of course.” He leans in and kisses her then, hands running over her body, settling on her sides as he hums contentedly against her lips. Lix, his Lix. And having her really is almost enough to make him forget about everything else. Everything important is out of the way now. There is nothing left to worry about. There is only Lix.

“I do love you, Randall,” she says when he pulls back for air.

“Lix, my darling, darling Lix.” His hands move upwards. fingers brushing over the swell of her breasts and upwards to her collarbone, as he traces over it with them. Has he said enough? Does he have to say the actual words? 

She makes that sound that’s haunted him for nearly two decades. The sound of desire that bypasses any rational, or indeed irrational thought as he grows hard, her skin, words and sound all too much to ignore. She strokes his hair, smoothing rather than ruffling and he knows what she’s doing, how careful she’s being, for him, only for him because Lix doesn’t care about any of this deep down and he’s sure it’s taking a significant amount of effort not to do any number of things to him and really there’s a significant part of him that wants her to, that just wants to feel her fingers tugging at his hair and her nails digging into his back and he almost growls at the mere thought of those things.

“Lix,” he moans, as she presses her body up into his and he can still feel her holding back. He still remembers everything about how it used to be, how they used to be and she was never tentative, not like now. He reaches down between them, hands sliding over her hips and onwards to the fabric of her French knickers, fingers slipping beneath her waistband and pushing them down with less precision that he would like.

“Randall.” She raises her hips, helps him as best she can as he pulls away to remove them completely, folding them as he did her bra and draping them over his chair. There‘s a moment of uncertainty then though, and he just sort of stays where he is unable to move.

“Randall?”

He closes his eyes, tries to refocus but he suddenly feels terribly out of his element here, with Lix naked beneath him despite the fact they‘ve done this dozens of times before, but that feels like a life time ago. “I‘m sorry,” he says for what feels like the hundredth time since he let her in.

“What is it? What‘s wrong.”

“I haven‘t…not in a while, not since…” And he doesn‘t know how to put it. He doesn‘t know where to start. Not since it became difficult to breathe if things weren‘t done in the correct way.

“Right.” She pushes herself up off the bed, props herself up on her elbows and looks at him in that way that makes him feel as if she‘s trying to read his mind, or see into his soul. “Right well.” She frowns deeply though he gets the distinct impression it isn‘t actually aimed at him. “Should I take it I‘m the problem here?”

“No, god no. Lix…” He shakes his head, looks down at her, completely naked and completely comfortable that way as if this is all perfectly normal and she hasn‘t made a single comment about how he looks now - old and worn out as if he doesn‘t quite fit into his skin anymore, which is exactly how he feels.

“Would you like a hand, darling?” she asks, sitting up fully, cupping his cheek, running her hand down his neck, over his shoulder and across his chest, touching him as if he‘s precious. 

“I…Lix.”

She kisses him again, so softly to almost hurts and before he‘s really aware of what‘s going on her hands are there at his waist. “Tell me to stop if you need to,” she whispers, lips close to his ear.

“No, no, please don‘t.”

“Lie back.”

He does as he‘s told, his head an inch away from the footboard and even that makes him a little uneasy. “Wait,” he says suddenly. “Can I…can we move? I can’t…”

She kisses the skin just below his ear, runs her hands slowly up his sides then moves away, getting off the bed so he can right himself. “I think perhaps I lost myself a little,” she says, waiting patiently as he sits up and turns, laying back with his head on the pillow. “Better?”

“Thank you,” he says, reaching out for her again, pulling her back onto the bed because he doesn’t want her to think for one moment that this isn‘t exactly what he wants.

“It‘s all right, I should have thought. Thank you for telling me, just keep doing that, okay? And we‘ll be fine.”

“I don‘t deserve you.”

Smiling wickedly Lix positions herself between his thighs. “No. You haven‘t done nearly enough terrible things to deserve me, darling, but here we are. You‘re just going to have to deal with it, aren‘t you?”

He smiles slightly at her response knowing better than to argue, especially now.

“Anyway, it‘s all fine. All of it. All of this.” She leans down, hands either side of his shoulders. “I could get used to it. _We_ could get used to it together. The first time’s always a little…awkward, all right so perhaps _our_ first time wasn‘t but…” she shrugs above him. “This is just a new way of doing things, a learning experience, the next time will be easier. I‘ll remember not to put you in odd positions, know where our clothes go once they‘ve been removed. Know how to _touch_ you.”

He swallows hard at that. He honestly isn‘t sure how that will work. Lix is the only person he allows to touch him, but does that mean she can touch him however she likes? Does he still need routine and precision now? He thinks of how he held her hand in the Embassy and relaxes. No it’s fine. All he needs is her touching him and everything will be fine. “I don’t think you have to worry about that part,” he admits.

“No?” she pulls back, a look of delight on her face. “But if I do anything that makes you feel…wrong you tell me, Randall. You don’t suffer in silence for my sake, do you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Well good,” she says, settling back between his thighs, just gazing at him, and for the first time in years he really doesn’t feel all that old, or stiff, or hemmed in. He feels a lot like the man he was in Spain, young and foolish and completely besotted with the beautiful, wild woman here on his bed, looking at him in the same way as she did back then.

“Right then,” she says, leaning down to kiss his chest, her hands moving down his stomach, stroking his skin as if she’s trying to help him relax before he feels her fingers back at his waist, touching the waistband of his underpants, and he raises his hips just as she did for him, encouraging her as she pulls them down, shuffling down to the foot of the bed to remove them fully, her finger tips running along his legs, touching his ankles. She sits up then, folds them perfectly and reaches to place the neatly with her under things.

He exhales slowly, relaxes into the pillow, knowing the difficult part is out of the way, and that they managed to get through it.

“Now you don’t mind if I stay here, do you?” she asks, settling herself on top of him. “Thought it might be easier,” he reaches up to touch his temples, stroking them softly, “help you switch off for a while. You just lie back, relax. But remember what I said, Randall, don’t worry about me. I just want you to be happy.”

And god knows if he can’t be happy now, when can he be?


End file.
